I don't mind telling you that I'm having a lot of trouble figuring out what to do with this space, lately.

I mean, sometimes I think: "I'm gonna tell stories about my life as an EXPAT in PRAGUE!" But, halfway through writing those tales of life abroad up, I've totally bored myself. So, nevermind. Then I think: "The hell with it! I'm going to just write about whatever I'm thinking about!" Then, halfway through a long treatise on the tension between authenticity and artifice as revealed by the latest breath taken by Trent Reznor, I realize that even though I'm totally not bored, the rest of the world is ready to freaking KILL ME. Best to CLAM IT.

So, I think, well, maybe everyone would like to read some excerpts from the Kierkegaard I've been reading...

That's actually a good idea. Here's one:

If there were no eternal consciousness in a man, if at the bottom of everything there were only a wild ferment, a power that twisting in dark passions produced everything great or inconsequential; if an unfathomable, insatiable emptiness lay hid beneath everything, what would life be but despair? If it were thus, if there were no sacred bond uniting mankind, if one generation rose up after another like the leaves of the forest, if one generation succeeded the other as the songs of birds in the woods, if the human race passed through the world as a ship through the sea or the wind through the desert, a thoughtless and fruitless whim, if eternal oblivion lurked hungerly for its prey, and there were no power strong enough to wrest it from its clutches -- how empty and devoid of comfort would life be?

Crushing question, yes, but is that a freaking beautiful passage of writing, or what? Jesus. I love Kierkegaard. Religious anxiety never made better reading.

On a similar tip, I could tell you all about the trouble I got into with this English guy I work with last Friday night, but MY DAD reads this website, you know? I don't think he wants to hear all about it, frankly. But, let's pretend you all already know about the trouble I got into. I could tell you about how weird it is to have felt bored by the whole thing before it was even over, and how all I can really say is that I sure hope he doesn't want me to be his girlfriend, or something, because seriously, I want something so much more undeniable, which I'm sure never to find because it's romantic bullshit that doesn't really exist. But, then again, my romantic angst and the latest evidence that I am going to die alone and be eaten by wild dogs is pretty boring, really. I think I'll spare you.

Here's the story, my friends: I live in Prague. It's beautiful here. Yesterday I spent a beautiful, wintery day in cafes with my dear friend, and walked through gorgeous, frigid cobbled streets. I bought a honeypot for my kitchen, and I'm growing hyacinths in a window box in my flat. At night I drink tea and eat chocolate in my PJ's and slippers. I have a cat who won't shut the hell up, and I live in a lovely, clean, peaceful place. I teach English, and it has it's ups and downs. I'm generally happy, though I miss my friends and family.

Lately, I just don't have much to say. I'm sorry to be so quiet. I love you all, though.

In other news, my monkey told me, last night before bed, that he has decided that he is going to totally brush the hell out of his teeth, morning and night, more than ever before, for every day before we fly back to Los Angeles.

"Why? To impress your girlfirends?" I asked him.

To which he giggled in exactly that manner that tells you JUST HOW TRUE IT IS, and then said:

"You may be interested to know," he says, "that global warming, earthquakes, hurricanes, and other natural disasters are a direct effect of the shrinking numbers of pirates since the 1800s. For your interest, I have included a graph of the approximate number of pirates versus the average global temperature over the last 200 years. As you can see, there is a statistically significant inverse relationship between pirates and global temperature."

So, just now, I was eating this freaking DELICIOUS feta and olive salad with garlic and herbs that I scored at the supermarket earlier today. I was making a big show of how mind-alteringly delicious it was to my monkey, who refused to try it on the grounds that the feta had been "defiled" by the olives.

In reply, I closed my eyes, and made the face that means "I am being transported to another planet of pleasure by the scrummy goodness in my mouth," which happened to be a big, juicy Greek olive.

At that point, my monkey rolled his eyes and said, "don't laugh, Mama. I wouldn't want that olive to get lodged in your nasal cavity or brain."

From Walter Benjamin's "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction":

"The uniqueness of a work of art is inseparable from its being imbedded in the fabric of tradition. This tradition itself is thoroughly alive and extremely changeable. An ancient statue of Venus, for example, stood in a different traditional context with the Greeks, who made it an object of veneration, than with the clerics of the Middle Ages, who viewed it as an ominous idol. Both of them, however, were equally confronted with it's uniqueness, that is, its aura. Originally, the contextual integration of art in tradition found its expression in the cult. We know that the earliest works of art originated in the service of ritual -- first the magical, then the religious kind. It is significant that the existence of the work of art with reference to its aura is never entirely separated from its ritual function. In other words, the unique value of the "authentic" work of art has its basis in ritual, the location of its original use value."

I spent the day first at the National Museum of Women in the Arts, debating the very raison d'etre of such a thing with my dear friend Matt Ambrose, who put up with my ranting on about the cloying nature of "women's art" with admirable equinamity. Then, the National Gallery of Art, where I saw a gorgeous exhibit of platinum prints by Irving Penn and a roomful of phantasmagoric El Grecos, among other things, while listening to the "Naughty Nails" playlist in the iPod. I'm sure those of you who know how naughty Nails can be can probably imagine. I felt like a predator stalking my prey in the sculpture garden! It ruled.

Pictures later, I guess.

Plus, PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION; and very hot, humid weather, which, surprisingly, as long as the evil fucking sun is not pounding down upon me using all of it's powers of torturous, superheated brightness, is tolerable... perhaps even pleasant.

As many of you may be aware, I am moving from Los Angeles to Prague this summer. Over the past week, my entire house has been totally packed up, including my millions of books, and right now, walking through this place is like navigating a forest of crap in boxes. Are you impressed with that totally literal simile that isn't really a simile at all? Because I am.

Other than that, my continued compulsion to re-experience all things related to the oeuvre of Trent Reznor continues apace, and out of consideration for your feelings, I have been resisting the urge to blog every single thought on that topic as it crosses my mind. I know you're grateful. Do be aware that the torture is not over, though, because I am going to see all nine inches of the rockshow in a very small club in San Diego on Monday and Tuesday of next week, and you will be hearing all about it, just as soon as I calm down enough to write coherent sentences. My friends, about this, I am stoked. Please forgive me, and know that in time, this, too, will pass. In the meantime, I want to mention that I was extra, extra clever when I saved my total immersion in The Fragile until the worst of the danger had passed.

Oh, and good news:Trent Reznor is funny, and has no love in his heart for George (Bad) Bush. That link is just for you, Rian. I know you love that shit. My response: Good! I didn't want to see that on MTV anyway, because that would have been LAME.

Meanwhile, I have been launching my future career as a rock reviewer and photographer. Can I make it happen? Sweet Jesus in heaven, I hope so. I think it's something I could be good at, and lord knows I feel the love in that department.

Ideas and notions galore have been spinning around in my head at a rapid pace. I am filled with excitement and trepidation. I am overwhelmed by enthusiasms, and totally enjoying myself. Things are good, my friends, and I love you all. No, I am not currently high on Ecstasy, I just wanted you all to know that. Soon I will be updating with greater frequency, and also, soon, I will be in Prague.